Ah! sad wer we as we did peace <br />the wold church road, wi' downcast feace, <br />the while the bells, that mwoaned so deep <br />above our child a-left asleep, <br />wer now a-zingen all alive <br />wi' t'other bells to meake the vive. <br />But up at woone pleace we come by, <br />t'wer hard to keep woone's two eyes dry- <br />on Stean-cliff road, 'ithin the drong, <br />up where, as vo'k do pass along, <br />the turnen stile, a-painted white, <br />do sheen by day an' show by night. <br />Vor always there, as we did goo <br />to church, thik stile did let us drough, <br />wi' spreaden arms that wheeled to guide <br />us each in turn to t'other zide. <br />An' vu'st ov all the train he took <br />my wife, wi' winsome gait an' look: <br />An' then zent on my little maid, <br />a-skippen onward, overjay'd <br />to reach agean the pleace o' pride, <br />her comely mother's left han' zide. <br />An' then, a-wheelen roun', he took <br />on me, 'ithin his third white nook. <br />An' in the fourth, a sheaken wild, <br />he zent us on our giddy child. <br />But eesterday he guided slow <br />my downcast Jenny, vull o' woe, <br />an' then my little maid in black, <br />a-walken softly on her track. <br />An' after he'd a-turned agean <br />to let me goo along the leane, <br />he had noo little bwoy to vill <br />his last white earms, an' they stood still.<br /><br />William Barnes<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-turnstile/
